


Like Father, Like Son

by Radiday



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Cause I love writing about Fred getting shot oops, Don't worry it's fiction, F/M, Gen, I'm sorry but I needed a catalyst, She'll be alive and well in my next fic about people finding out Fred got shot, Someone dies, Spoiler alert: It's bunny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-09-05 10:53:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16809232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Radiday/pseuds/Radiday
Summary: Archie and Fred fall apart, and then come back together.Or, the aftermath of Archie's return home from juvie.





	Like Father, Like Son

“Sherman made the terrible discovery that men make about their fathers sooner or later... that the man before him was not an aging father but a boy, a boy much like himself, a boy who grew up and had a child of his own and, as best he could, out of a sense of duty and, perhaps love, adopted a role called Being a Father so that his child would have something mythical and infinitely important: a Protector, who would keep a lid on all the chaotic and catastrophic possibilities of life.”

–Tom Wolfe, _The Bonfire of the Vanities_

* * *

It ends with a hit.

_Doesn’t it always?_

A few hits, actually.

And a couple of kicks.

Fred feels the last one the hardest. A swift kick right into the eye socket, and for a second, his vision goes dark.

He wakes up to Tom Keller screaming his name, sees him and FP wrestling the guys who brought here to the ground.

Black clouds over him once again.

* * *

Hiram Lodge is a smart man. He knows there is exactly one person on this planet that he can use to get Archie Andrews back into town.

What he didn’t count on, however, was Fred Andrews putting up a fight. Or Fred Andrews having friends that put up a fight for him.

The tall, muscular, burrowing men that overpowered Fred are taken into custody at nine thirty. They’re brought to tears at the idea of twenty to life for their involvement in this whole debacle, and immediately name Hiram Lodge as the mastermind.

Sierra McCoy gets word of this at ten fifteen that night, immediately drafts an indictment, wakes up a judge, and by eleven Hiram Lodge is being brought up on a laundry list of charges.

Veronica calls Jughead, who tells her they’re somewhere in Michigan, says Archie told him that he doesn’t want to talk to her.

Veronica doesn’t miss a beat, cuts him off altogether, tells Jughead in the strongest voice she can muster that she doesn’t give a _shit_. Says they both need to get their asses back to town _yesterday_ , because something’s happened to Mr. Andrews and Hiram’s going to jail.  
  
She says that Hiram's cronies took Fred to Fox Forest where they beat him until Tom Keller, who had installed a tracker on Fred’s phone because he thought something like this might happen, had found them.

But Jughead doesn’t hear a word Veronica says after _something’s happened to Mr. Andrews_ and hangs up, jostles Archie awake from his spot in their makeshift camp, and tells him they have to go home, _now_.

It’s time to come back to the land of the living.

* * *

Fred wakes up to an all too familiar stark white scene. He can hear the machines whirring and beeping next to him, feels the IV poking into his forearm, and knows exactly where he is.

There’s no tube down his throat this time, which means it can’t be that bad. But his head hurts something fierce and his vision’s still blurry.

From a million miles away, he hears someone call out to him, telling him to stay awake if he can.

He drifts off anyways.

* * *

It takes Archie and Jughead less that 24 hours to get back to Riverdale. Archie’s become an old pro at hoping trains by now, and they easily maneuver from one train to the next on their journey home.

They arrive at Riverdale General Hospital in the dead of night. Nobody’s in the waiting room. Not the Pussycats, or the Bulldogs, or Hermione Lodge or Alice Cooper…

Which probably means Fred’s okay. Or it means Fred’s dead.

Archie feels the wind knock out of him the minute he steps foot in the waiting room, like his feet can’t move no matter how hard he tries. Jughead’s already at the nurses’ station, asking about Fred Andrews and saying his kids want to see him.

The woman behind the desk- Fred’s neurologist, so it happens- smiles gently and leads them back. “I was just about to do a check on him anyways,” she says.

Jughead peaks through the window in the door and stops, takes in a sleeping Fred with a deep bruise on his left eye. “I’ll stay out here,” he says. “Don’t wanna crowd him.”

Archie raises his eyebrows at him but goes in regardless, taking the chair at the side of the bed, just like he did barely over a year ago.

The doctor, Dr. Wilson, per her nametag, shakes Fred awake gently and is greeted by a groan.

“Hey there, Mr. Andrews. Sorry to wake you. Is it okay if we ask you some questions?”

Fred nods, but doesn’t even look in Archie’s direction. For a split second, Archie feels his stomach drop and thinks maybe Fred’s angry enough to ignore him. But when he takes a closer look, he realizes Fred’s right eye is swollen shut, so Fred can’t even see him sitting there if he wanted to.

“What’s your name?” Dr. Wilson asks, shining a penlight in Fred’s good eye and pulling Archie out of his thoughts.

“Fred Andrews,” he says with a cough.

“When’s your birthday?”

“June 17th, 1973.”

And who’s the president of the United States?”

Fred laughs softly and rubs at his side. “Don’t make me say it.”

Archie laughs silently. Dr. Wilson winks. “Close enough,” she says. “Just one more question.”

“Sure.”

The doctor points across the bed. “Who’s that?”

Fred finally turns his head and feels relief wash over him when he sees the red-headed boy sitting in the chair, smiling back at him. The heart rate monitor at the side of the bed becomes an string of quick beeps. For a moment, he’s left speechless, and there’s a part of him that thinks this all might be a dream.

Archie reaches out and takes Fred’s hand in his own. “Archie,” Fred says finally, hoarse from the tears he’s holding back. “That’s Archie.”

Dr. Wilson smiles. “Good,” she says. “I’ll give you two some time. But you need to get some sleep, Fred, okay? I promise I won’t wake you up again tonight.”

If she’s surprised by the lack of response, she doesn’t show it, just watches as Fred reaches up to cup his hand around his son’s neck, pulling him into his chest. She has half a mind to tell Fred to mind his broken ribs, but takes a second look at the two men before her, faces crumpled from tears, and leaves it be.

* * *

“Dad.” It comes out a whisper, not unlike when his father woke up after the shooting. Low and soft and scared, but painfully relieved all at once.

There’s a moment between them, that could be seen from a mile away, in which everything is in slow motion. Fred looks his son up and down, then cups his hands around Archie’s face.

“Dad,” Archie says, breathing heavy. His skin is tingling and he’s afraid that if he blinks he might just pass out. “Oh god, Dad,” he says, tightening his fingers around Fred’s arm. “I’m so sorry.”

“Archie-”

“Your eye…” Archie reaches up to touch it, but Fred bats him off gently.

“It’s not the first black eye I’ve had. Though it would be nice if it were the last,” he adds with an attempt at a laugh.

“I’m so sorry about all this, Dad. If I would’ve known-”

“Hey. It’s okay. All that matters is that you’re safe. It’s over now.”

“It’s over,” Archie repeats, as if he needed to hear his father say it for it to be true.

* * *

Fred sees the stab wound on his son’s abdomen the following night when he’s released, when he walks into Archie’s room while he’s changing his shirt. Archie tries to cover it quickly, turn his body so Fred can’t see, but Fred takes a too firm hold on Archie’s arm that sends shivers up his spine.

 _You’re not there anymore, Andrews,_ he says to himself. _This is your damn father._

Fred senses the tension and immediately lets go, but runs his finger across the scar. “Who did this?”

“Dad-”

“ _Who_ did this?”

Archie sighs and says, “Some kid in juvie. I don’t ever remember his name,” because there’s no use telling his dad it was Joaquin, no use giving Fred another person to want to destroy. “It’s okay, dad, it doesn’t even hurt anymore,” he adds for good measure.

Fred doesn’t say anything, just hums his response, his jaw clenched tight enough to make his swollen eye pulse.

“Let me get you some ice for that,” Archie says, breaking the silence, to which Fred shakes his head and takes a step back.

“They gave me ice at the hospital. It’s fine, really.”

“Well what about something for the pain?”

“I took an aspirin already.”

“They didn’t give you anything stronger?”

Fred clenches his jaw even tighter.“They did. I threw it out.”

Archie nods, and for some reason, he feels all at once awkward and uncomfortable, like a stranger in his own home.

“What about you?” his father says.

“What?”

“Are you in any pain? You were… hidden for a long time. Never got your injuries properly looked at.”

Archie’s hand ghosts over his side. “It was just the one. I’m fine, Dad. Really.”

Fred nods and gives him a useless attempt at a smile. He thinks he should sit down, spend some time with his son for the first time in months, but Archie’s shifting nervously, eyeing his father’s every move, like he’s waiting for Fred to leave, so he decides against it. “Well, okay,” Fred says. “Get some rest, then, alright? Goodnight, son.”

Archie opens his mouth to respond, to stop his father because he doesn’t want to be alone, wants desperately to reach out and say _no, please, don’t leave,_ but Fred’s already out of the room, shutting Archie’s door behind him.

* * *

The nightmares keep Archie up the first night, and the second. He asks to sleep in his father’s room on the third.

If Fred’s at all shocked by the request, he doesn’t show it. Just pats the spot next to him and scoots over, dumping the melting ice pack that was resting on his ribs onto his side table. Archie falls asleep with Fred’s hand running through his hair. Fred spends the whole night watching him, just like he did when his son was a baby.

Archie sleeps better in Fred’s bed, doesn’t wake up screaming as much. but Fred doesn’t sleep at all. Watches the door, watches his son, counts Archie’s breaths and watches his chest rise and fall.

He doesn’t mind, though. Anything for his boy. Besides, it’s the closest they come to being in the same room as each other for weeks.

It’s really awkward, is the thing. Things don’t seem to be sliding back into place like they’d both hoped. Archie’s got a new sense of independence, a sense of _I’ve seen some shit_ that Fred was hoping to spare him from. And Fred’s got a renewed desire to protect his son, a hard, deep obsession. The therapist Fred makes Archie see might even call it clinical.

But, they’re making it work. Or they’re trying to.

Archie asks Fred about what happened in Fox Forest that night, the night Hiram Lodge got caught. Fred never says much, just points to his swollen eye and says “they roughed me up, son. That’s it.”

Fred asks Archie about what happened in juvie, and he says the same thing.

_That’s it._

They talk about the weather, talk about sports, talk about Archie’s return to school (which they eventually stop doing because it causes too much tension). Weatherbee thinks it’s best for Archie to miss the school year, start again in the fall, and Fred agrees. Archie won’t hear of it.

They say things like _when’s mom coming to visit,_ and _Christmas in Chicago should be pretty, maybe we can go down there this year_ , because for some reason, Fred and Archie just don’t know how to be alone together anymore.

It used to be no problem. It used to be Archie’s favorite part of the day. Sitting in the living room, doing homework, while his dad finished paperwork or paid bills or read the newspaper. Together, but alone. A comforting homeostasis. Now, neither of them can stand the silence.

Maybe it’s because Fred’s urge to protect his son has increased tenfold. He wants to know where Archie’s going and who’s going to be there and when he’ll be back. Not that he didn’t care before, but it’s different now. More urgent. More desperate. More _I couldn’t protect you before but you bet your ass I’m going to now._

Archie can’t really blame him, per say, but it is annoying. After all, he’s spent the last two months protecting himself in juvie. He can handle getting milkshakes with his friends at Pop’s no problem.

It goes like this: Archie says he’s going out, Fred asks _who, what, when, where, why_ , Archie gets frustrated and snaps at his dad, Fred feels bad, apologizes, Archie feels bad, apologizes, they sit in awkward silence, and then Archie leaves.

Every time.

It’s a delicate balance, Archie’s return. A delicate attempt for both father and son, in which each tries process trauma that the other couldn’t possibly understand.

Archie’s friends don’t come around as much as Fred expects them too, at least not while he’s home. Archie mentions that they stop by sometimes when he’s at work, says that Jughead was with him that night in the hospital but never came in, and Fred feels a pang of something that might be guilt but also might be anger.

There’a a part of him that more grateful than ever that his son has friends willing to put their lives and livelihoods on the line for him, but there’s another part of him that’s furious that nobody, not once, consulted him. Part of him that thinks that the teenagers of this town parade around thinking that they know better than everyone else, and it might just get one of them killed.

Regardless, he doesn’t see much of Archie’s friends in the week after his return. That is, until one weekend, when Betty, Jughead, and Veronica all show up at the door looking for him.

The only problem is, Archie left that morning telling his dad that he’d be studying all day with Betty.

“I thought he was with you,” Fred says, trying not to sound accusatory, trying not to be angry at children.

He swallows his pride and invites them in because they all look worried, and he can’t help but notice how Jughead shrinks away at his tone.

Fred calls Archie and tells him in no uncertain terms that he needs to get back home from wherever he is _right now._

The three teens eventually manage to slip out of the house, feeling like intruders in the home for the first time in their collective lives.

Which is probably for the best, because when Archie comes back, Fred’s fuming.

“Care to tell me where you were?”

“Dad, I’m sorry. I just needed some time alone.”

Fred’s undeterred. “And you couldn’t just tell me that this morning? You had to lie?”

“Dad, come on. You haven’t let me leave the house alone in two weeks. You would’ve never let me go.”

“ _Oh_ , so this is my fault?”

Archie’s face contorts with confusion. “What? No, Dad. I just needed some space. It’s not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal? You lied to me, Archie. You don’t get to tell me you’re going one place and then go somewhere else.

“Seriously,-”

“ _Oh_ , I’m serious. You don’t get to do that. I am your _father_. You don’t get to lie to me.”

“Dad, I’m sorry…” he stops himself when he sees his dad reach for his coat and keys. “Dad, where are you going?”

“You want some alone time?” he says, shoving the keys into his coat pocket with too much force. “You got it. I’m gonna take a walk.”

* * *

He takes a drive, actually. Makes it to Sweetwater River before turning off the road and parking the truck so it’s hidden behind a cluster of trees.

Tom Keller finds him, regardless.

He’s in shorts and a t-shirt, jogging in place as he taps on the passenger side window and motions for Fred to roll down the window.

“You run around here?” Fred asks, smiling beside himself. 

Tom nods. “And I still got that tracking app on my phone. Started beeping when I got close to you.”

Fred lets out a small laugh. “You gotta get rid of that thing.”

Tom smiles, still jogging in place. “I do. Let me in?”

Fred unlocks the truck and Tom climbs in, settling into the passenger side and checking his pulse.

“What’s goin’ on, Fred?”

“Nothing.”

Tom raises his eyebrows. “So you just come out here for the view?” he asks, still catching his breath. “It’s nice, but it’s not that nice.”

Fred gives him a thin smile, but doesn’t so much as look up from the steering wheel, so Tom presses on.

“How are things with Archie?”

Fred laughs bitterly. “Great. Just great,” he mumbles.

“O-kay.” Tom shifts in his seat. “So that’s a lie if I’ve ever heard one.”

Fred hears his own words from earlier ringing in his ears. “You know,” Tom says, “Kevin says the kids are real worried that you’re upset with them. They don’t know how to make it right.”

Fred shrugs. “I’m not upset with them.”

A laugh escapes from Tom’s lips.. “You are. But I get it. I mean, it’s perfectly reasonable. Hell, I’d be pissed. What they did was stupid-”

“What they did kept Archie alive.”

Tom shrugs one shoulder. “Doesn’t mean you don’t get to be angry. You’re his father, and they didn't tell you. Archie didn’t come to you.”

Fred sucks in a breath. “I just- I know that they were doing what they thought was right, all of them. But, I don’t know. I just, it’s different now. He’s different, I’m different. I just don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to stop... feeling angry or guilty - I just want to make him feel better.”

“Fred, I’ve seen a lot of families fall apart in my line of work, and there’s one thing I know for sure,” Tom clasps his hand on his friend’s shoulder, “You can’t forgive anybody else until you forgive yourself.”

Fred grips the steering wheel with both hands, knuckles white. “What if I don’t know how to do that?”

“You gotta talk to your boy, Freddy. He wants to help you, just like you want to help him.”

Fred shakes his head. “I can’t bother him with that-”

“Hey. He’s your son. He wants to help you. You can’t keep the weight of the world on your shoulders, Fred. Besides, Archie’s sixteen. You think he doesn’t know you’re not perfect by now?”

There a long pause before Fred finally says, “I guess he does.”

“Talk to him. And then he’ll talk to you.”

Fred nods, more to himself than anything, and lets out a genuine laugh when Tom buckles the seatbelt and says, “Now take me home, would ya?”

* * *

Kevin shows up the Andrews’ home fifteen minutes after Archie calls.

“I got here as soon as I could, Arch. What’s wrong?” After a look around the seemingly empty house, he adds, “And where’s your dad?”

Archie rubs the back of his neck. “He went out. We got in a fight. It was bad, Kev, real bad.”

Kevin rubs Archie’s arm before following him up the stairs to his bedroom. “Should we call Betty, or Veronica? They usually knows what to do.”

“No. They’ll just worry. Besides, they all think my dad’s mad at them.”

“Is he?”

Archie shrugs. “I don’t know. We’re not really talking these days.”

“You’re not?”

“I mean, we’re talking, but we’re not _talking_. Not about, like, important things.”

“Like about what happened in juvie?”

Archie opens his mouth, then closes it, then opens it again. “I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to talk about it.”

“You know,” Kevin starts, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees, hands clasped. “My mom, before she left, she used to say that we have to believe that everybody is doing the best they know how, you know? Otherwise, we’d all just feel shitty all the time.”

“I _do_ feel shitty all the time,” Archie says, clenching a fist. “My dad feels shitty all the time.”

“Look, Arch, you don’t have a lot of experience being the kid who just got out of juvie. And your dad doesn’t have a lot of experience being the father of the kid who just got out of juvie. You’re both new to this, and you’re both doing the best you know how. So cut yourself some slack. This is a screwy situation that nobody would know how to deal with. It’ll get better eventually.”

Archie feels the tears well in his eyes. “I want it to get better now,” he says, scrubbing his face.

Kevin reaches over and touches Archie’s knee with his fingertips. “ _Talk_ to your dad. Things’ll never get better unless you tell each other the truth.”

“I don’t want him to worry.”

“Archie,” Kevin says disbelievingly. “How do you think he’s been feeling these last two months? You talking to him isn’t going to make him feel worse, it’s going to make him feel better. It’s going to make _you_ feel better.”

Archie nods, and then lets out a wet laugh. “When did you get to be so smart?”

* * *

Archie tries that night to follow Kevin’s advice, to _talk_ to his dad, but it doesn’t go as planned.

“You got any plans tonight?” Fred asks, his tone unreadably steady. He’d come home just after Kevin left, slipped quietly into the kitchen while Archie was in the shower. “Going to see Veronica, Jug?”

“Actually,” Archie says, drumming his fingers on the kitchen table, opposite where Fred was sitting. “ I was thinking we could watch a movie or something.”

Fred flicks his eyes up over his glasses then returns to reading the sports section. “You and Jug?”

“You and me.”

Fred puts the paper down. “Oh,” he says slowly. “Yeah, okay. Sure. Let me just go take a shower real quick. You pick something out.”

He settles on The Shining, an old favorite for them both. They’ve seen it enough times that they can practically quote it verbatim. An advantage, Archie thinks, because neither of them will actually be _watching._ More time for talking. 

Which would have worked if Fred hadn’t fallen asleep thirty minutes in.

They’re on opposite ends of the couch, physically as far apart as can be. Archie looks over just as the sun’s setting to find Fred passed out, his head resting on his hand, perched on the arm of the couch. 

Fred’s head slips slightly off his head, bobbing against his neck. Archie can’t help but smile. If things were better, he might just have taken a photo to make fun of his dad later.

He hesitates, but pulls out his phone anyways.

What is it Veronica always says about getting what you want? _Speak it into existence, Archikins._

When he’s satisfied, he lifts Fred’s legs onto the couch and slides a pillow under his head. He pulls a blanket over from the armchair and drapes it over his father, turns down the movie, and pulls out his homework.

Talking will have to wait.

* * *

Fred tries, the next day, to talk to Archie. Really talk, like they used to.

He thought about it the night before, after he wakes up stretched out on the couch, rubbing the bruise over his ribs that hasn’t quite faded, and jostles Archie awake in the process.

He’s got his Chemistry textbook draped over his chest, a pencil he’s just barely holding onto.

They laugh when the pencil clatters to the floor, and Fred claps a hand over Archie’s back and tells him to get to bed. It’s late.

So, he tries over breakfast, eggs and bacon and toast, but the topic falls to school again and they’re back at square one.

The argue for an hour, going back and forth between _you don’t understands_ and _I just want what’s best for yous,_ _between you can’t protect me forever_ and _I sure can try._

They don’t exactly say the latter.

* * *

In the end, Archie does go back to school. It’s really more Fred resigning because his son looks so heartbroken at the thought of not graduating with his friends than it is anything else.

After a few days, Fred thinks that maybe Archie was right all along. He seems to visibly relax after he’s gone back to Riverdale High.

Things between the two of them get better after that. Not entirely, but it’s a start.

They make it through an entire Saturday running errands together, cleaning the house, doing laundry. They even make it a few hours at the kitchen table, between newspapers and homework and pizza. Things seem to be getting better.

That is, until Betty Cooper comes by asking questions about The Midnight Club.

Archie laughed when she first explains it to him, thinks it’s one of those new movies that are made to look like they were from the eighties.

He stops laughing when she explains what it really is, what it could’ve been. That the parents all had a secret dead principal and one of them might be the killer.

And that his dad might be involved.

She wants him to talk to Fred about it. See if there’s anything he remembers that Alice and the other parents didn’t. He doesn’t tell her, but Archie thinks that it’s going to be harder that Betty thinks, you know, ‘cause he and his dad aren’t really _talking_ these days.

“Maybe,” she says, in an attempt to lighten the mood, “start by asking about what happened between your dad and my mom in the Blue and Gold.”

He broaches it over chicken parm, starts by mentioning the game and asking if Fred’s ever played it. Fred shakes his head and mumbles something about how he’s maybe played it once or twice back in high school, but “I barely remember the game, Arch.”

Archie lets out a frustrated sigh, and Fred looks up from his meal, bracing himself for another fight. “I talked to Betty,” Archie says finally.

Fred sets his fork and knife down, defeated. Because _he_ also talked to Betty. Or rather, the entire Midnight Club talked to Betty, down in the speakeasy, when she confronted them about what happened at the ascension party.

It’s not that Fred wasn’t listening, it’s just that he wanted to get the hell out of there. News of Archie’s escape, news of his son being _armed and dangerous_ , had broken less than twenty four hours before.

So yeah, maybe he wasn’t listening.

“My dad died three days before they found Featherhead’s body,” Fred says. “I wasn’t thinking straight. I wasn’t thinking _at all_.”

“But,” Archie pauses to swallow a bite, “I mean, I still don’t understand how this game even works. And why is everyone so freaked out about it?”

“Son, the less you know about this game, the better. And if I were you, I’d tell Betty and Jug to keep their distance from it too.”

With that, Fred takes his half-full plate to the sink, effectively ending the conversation, and Archie knows he’s hit a nerve.

He follows his father into the kitchen. “Dad, come on. Betty says there’s something seriously messed up going on here.”

“Betty doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

“That’s not what you said in the speakeasy. Betty said you were the only one willing to talk.”

Fred sighs, tossing the remaining meal from his plate into a tupperware container. “That was before-"

“Before what, Dad?”

“Before you ran off, Archie. Before I knew Warden Norton killed himself. Look, Betty’s right. Whatever this is, it’s messed up. But this isn’t some mystery for teenagers to try and solve. It was a long time ago. It’s over now.”

He and Archie both know he’s lying.

“Dilton Doiley _died_ , Dad. Ethel Muggs had a seizure, so did Josie. So did _Betty_. It’s not over.”

“Arch, you’ve got more important things to worry about. You’ve got two months worth of schoolwork to make up. SATs. This is an important year.”

“It’s not as important as people _dying_ ,” Archie says, voice raised. “How can you just not care?”

“I do care-”

“No, you _don’t_.”

“Archie-"

“You don’t care! People are dying, and you don’t give a shit!”

"Hey. Hey! You don’t get to talk to me like that. I do care, Archie. It’s terrible what happened to Dilton Doiley, and it’s terrible what happened to Principal Featherhead. But I care way more about keeping you safe than any Gargoyle King that may or may not be out there.”

“Nobody will be safe if the Gargoyle King gets his way, Dad.”

“I’m not having this conversation anymore, Archie. You asked what happened and I told you all I know.”

“No, you didn’t. You didn’t tell me anything. You’re using Grandpa Artie as an excuse to hide behind-“

“Woah. No. That’s not fair. I was your age, alright? I came home from that stupid ascension party and found my dad _dead_ , do you get that? I don’t remember most of that _year._ You don’t understand.”

“I do understand, Dad. I watched you bleed out in my arms, remember that?”

"Arch-"

“No,” Archie says, shaking his head furiously. You don’t want to talk about it. I got it, loud and clear.” He storms upstairs after that, leaving Fred to wonder what the hell just happened.

If he were a violent man, it would be right about now that he’d punch a wall.

* * *

Archie keeps waking up to Fred having early morning phone calls in the kitchen. At first he thinks it might be Mary, but she says otherwise.

“Lord knows I haven’t seen six a.m. in years, sweetheart,” she says.

He tries to ignore it, because if he thought he and his dad weren’t talking before, they’re definitely not now.

They barely say two words to each other. Barely stay in the same room together, aside from quick, pathetic attempts at dinner every night.

Finally, he works up the courage. Stops Fred right as he’s about to leave for work.

“Are you seeing someone?” Archie asks to Fred’s back.

“Sorry?” Fred says, spinning around in the doorway to face his son.

“Are you- like, are you dating someone?”

“No,” Fred says slowly. “What makes you say that?”

“Well it’s just- I hear you on the phone every morning, and you always hang up when I come downstairs. I just thought, maybe, you didn’t want me to know you were dating.”

Fred smiles at him for the first time in a week. “I’m not seeing anybody, Archie.”

 _Then who are you talking to?_ he doesn’t say. They’re actually having a real conversation, and he doesn’t want to ruin it. “Maybe you could try speed dating or something,” he says instead with a small laugh.

Fred cocks an eyebrow. “I don’t know that I’m suited for speed dating, Arch.”

“Well, yeah, but it’s never too late to try. Besides, at your age-“

Fred cracks a tooth showing grin. “At my _what_ now?”

“I’m just saying. You should get back out there, old man.”

“Yeah, well, I’ll think about it.” He checks his watch. “I’m gonna be late. And so are you if you don’t get a move on. I’ll see you tonight.”

“Love you, Dad,” he says right as Fred steps outside. Fred gives him a smile that fills Archie with relief.

“Love you too, son.”

* * *

Archie goes to therapy twice a week. Sometimes, Fred waits in the truck, other times he busies himself at the grocery store to kill the time.

Today, Archie asks him to come in with him to the session. Fred’s not against therapy by any stretch of the imagination, but he feels his stomach knot with anxiety.

Somewhere, in the deep, dark of his brain, a wall starts to go up. Defenses at the ready. He likes Dr. Patel, really, but he’s not sure he can handle it if this session turns into a blame game.

He stares at the pale green walls of Dr. Patel’s office as she speaks. It’s exactly like he’s imagine a therapist’s office to look. Exactly what he’s seen in the movies. There’s flowers, and a bookshelf covering one wall, floor to ceiling windows on another, letting in the parking lot view from the sixth floor office. Even her office is gentle. Dr. Patel sits on a chair across the coffee table - made from real wood, mind you- from Archie and Fred, who share spots on the cream-colored sofa. _Not a great choice for furniture,_ Fred finds himself thinking. _Gets dirty way to easy._

Dr. Patel’s gentle voice informs Fred that Archie’s doing well. Says he finds comfort in his music, and Fred’s unwavering support is a main reason for Archie’s success.

The anxiety he felt before is replaced with guilt, because he hasn’t felt very supportive. He feels lost, afraid, barely keeping himself above water, let alone Archie. Dr. Patel, who, Fred notes, he might mistake for one of Archie’s classmates if he didn’t know any better, notices.

“Fred,” she starts. “I noticed your reaction when I said that just now. What’s going through your mind?”

“Hm?” Fred says looking up from the dark shag carpet. “Oh, no, nothing.”

“Dad,” Archie prompts from his spot, his elbows resting on his knees, leg bouncing up and down uncontrollably.

“Really, Arch. This is about you.”

Archie opens his mouth to speak, but Dr. Patel interjects gently. “This is about both of you. You’re going through this together. Now, are you sure there’s nothing you want to share?”

Fred hesitates, but looks up to meet expectant faces. “I just- you said I was being supportive. I haven’t been feeling very supportive.”

“Seriously, Dad?” Archie sits up suddenly, face twisted in confusion. “How can you say that?”

Fred shakes his head again. “This isn’t about me. This is about you.”

“Didn’t you hear Dr. Patel?” Archie says, letting out a frustrated sigh. “This is about both of us.”

“Fred, it sounds like Archie’s asking you to share how your feeling with him,” Dr. Patel nudges.

Fred flicks his eyes over to meet Dr. Patel’s, who gives him an encouraging smile. He takes a deep breath. “I feel like I failed...as your father. I _did_ fail.”

“Dad, what?”

“Archie,” Dr. Patel says. Let’s let your dad talk right now.”

“I just-“ Fred continues, “My job- the only job that matters- is keeping you safe, and I couldn’t do that. You went to that hellhole and I couldn’t get you out.”

“Dad,” Archie starts, scooting closer to his father. “None of this is your fault. I got involved with Hiram Lodge even though you kept telling me not to. I did this to myself.” Archie wants so badly to reach out and takes Fred’s hand, but he can’t. He doesn’t know if they’re there yet.

“Now,” Dr. Patel interjects, “if I may. It sounds like both of you blame yourselves. I wonder if we could maybe just shelve that for a minute, and just focus on what other emotions you’re feeling?”

Archie goes first. He’s used to this kind of thing by now. Fred hasn’t been in therapy since a one-off session his mother sent him to after his father died. “I feel like I really hurt you, when I said those things about Grandpa Artie and the game. I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry.”

Fred shakes his head. “I know you didn’t, son. And I- I never really thought about what it must have been like for you- after what happened at Pop’s. I barely remember it and I’m still nervous about going in there sometimes.”

“You are?”

Fred nods. “Yeah. I mean, it was over a year ago, but sometimes when I hear that door open, it’s like- it’s like I’m right back there.”

“You never told me that.”

“I didn’t want to worry you.”

“That’s interesting,” Dr. Patel says. “Archie says that quite a bit, too. That he doesn’t want to worry you. What would you say to each other if you didn’t have to worry about… worrying one another? What would you say, Fred?”

Fred clears his throat. “I would tell you that, uh, I feel like I don’t know how to help you the way you need. And that I don’t know… what I’m doing, or how to make it better, but I just- It’s my job to protect you. The only thing I care about is making a good life for you, Arch, and I don’t think I’m doing a very good job.

“Archie?” Dr. Patel prompts.

Archie takes a deep breath. “I would tell you that you’re the only reason I got through all of this, Dad. Even when I was in juvie, I could always count on you. I just wish that you knew you could count on me too.”

* * *

“The calls are from Grandma.”

They’re back in the truck, both drained of energy and and desire to fight with each other. The rain’s coming down in sheets around them, slapping the windshield of the unmoving truck in the parking lot. “What?” Archie says.

“Those early morning phone calls you were asking about earlier,” Fred says, trying to bring himself to look Archie in the eye. “They’re from Grandma and her doctors. She’s sick, Archie.” Fred looks down at his lap. “Her heart’s failing. She needs a new one.”

“Well, they can do that, right?” Archie says, willing himself to sound hopeful against Fred’s dejected voice . “A transplant?”

Fred shakes his head. His vision goes blurry and he can’t figure out if its the rain or the tears. “It doesn’t work like that, Arch. There’s a list. And they rank you. Hearts go to people that can make them last the longest. Grandma’s older and… it’s not looking good.”

“Wait but- how long has this been going on?”

“A few months,” Fred rasps, picking at his thumb. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Grandma asked me not to.” Fred finally meets Archie’s eye. “We were going to wait til we knew she was getting a heart, but the chances of that are slim to none. She’s getting worse.”

“Dad…”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.” His thumb’s bleeding now. He presses it into his hand to stop it.

“No,” Archie says gently, finally reaching over and taking Fred’s hand. “I’m sorry you’ve been dealing with this alone.”

* * *

He’s so caught up in the call that he doesn’t hear Archie barreling down the stairs. It’s been two weeks since their session together, two weeks since Fred revealed to Archie that Bunny was dying. Two weeks, and yet it seems like it was both just yesterday and years ago. He hurries to wipe his tears away, but it’s too late. Archie’s looking back at him with concern coming off in waves.

“Dad?”

Fred puts the phone back on the hook and take the opportunity to collect himself.

“Are you okay?” Archie tries again.

Fred takes a deep, silent breath and turns back around. “Fine, son.”

Archie rolls his eyes. “Dad, come on. You can talk to me.”

Fred puts his best game face on. “Don’t have anything to talk about.”

“Dad.”

“Archie.”

“You were _crying_. What’s wrong?” Fred’s looking anywhere but at Archie. Finally, he asks, “Is it Grandma?”

Fred swallows what he think might be bile. He opens his mouth but no sound comes out.

Archie steps closer, reaches for his father’s shoulder, but Fred takes a small step back. Archie nods towards the phone. “Was that her?”

“Her doctor,” Fred says, voice monotonous and expression blank. “He, uh, he said it’s time I come down there. It probably won’t be long before-“

“Dad…”

“I’ll leave in the morning,” Fred says, swiping his eyes with his sleeve.

“I’m coming with you.”

“No, Arch. You’ve already missed enough school as it is. I’ll call Alice, see if you can stay-“

“Mrs. Cooper’s still at the farm,” Archie supplies quickly.

“Well then you can stay with-“

“Who?” Archie says, exasperated. “FP? In his trailer?”

Fred lets out a resigned sigh. “I want to come with you, Dad,” Archie says. “Do you really want to do this alone?”

 _Yes,_ Fred wants to say.

“I’ll call Weatherbee,” he says instead.

* * *

It’s been years since Archie’s visited his grandmother’s place in Maine. More often than not, Bunny came to visit them, making casseroles upon casseroles for her son and grandson to keep in the freezer.

The drive up is silent. Archie offers to drive time time again, but Fred refuses. He can’t- He can’t just _sit_ there, doing nothing, left only to think about his dying mother. He keeps his eyes and mind focused on the road.

Archie watches out of the corner of his eye. Watches Fred white knuckle the steering wheel, keeping his jaw clenched and fixed. His father’s bruised face has cleared up by now, leaving just a faint yellowish mark under his eye, but if you didn’t know it was there you might not notice.

Archie booked them a motel before they left home. Some shitty, cheap, but close to the hospital dump that only had one vacancy and one king bed.

They don’t go there the first night, no matter how many times Fred says he’ll drop Archie off so he doesn’t have to spend more time in a hospital than necessary.

But Archie’s decided that he’s not going to leave his father unattended on this trip. He made it through juvie, he can help his dad through this.

He knows in his gut that his dad has done this before, lost a parent, buried a parent, buried a _brother_. This isn’t unfamiliar territory. But he didn’t have Archie then and he does now and he’ll be damned before he lets his father go through this again alone.

Fred asks for his mother at the front desk, says he’s her son, which sounds strange in Archie’s ears and he replays the words over and over again in his head.

 _I’m her son._ He doesn’t understand why he can’t wrap his head around the idea that his father, too, is someone’s son. That he’s fought with his mom and dad the same way Archie does now with him. That he fought curfew and did drugs and played in a band. A _band_.

Betty told him about Fred in high school. He learned more from her than he ever had from Fred about his younger days, because Fred doesn’t think his younger days matter. _Nothing matters before you, son._

He’d never known about Fred's dilemma, not unlike his own, of choosing between music and sports. Never quite understood the sacrifices Fred made at such a young age until now.

Archie’s brought back to Earth as the nurse leads them back and leaves them at the door with a sad smile. “She’s got good days and bad. Today’s somewhere in the middle.”

There’s an empty seat on either side of the bed, where Fred and Archie remain for the rest of the night. At some point, Archie’s able to convince Fred to get a cup of coffee, maybe take a walk, because Archie was able to doze off for a few hours after midnight, but Fred looks like he hasn’t slept in days.

Half an hour after Fred leaves, Bunny stirs awake and greets her grandson. She's weak and the fingers she grips Archie’s face with are frail. Archie tries to stop crying.

Regardless of her health, Bunny wipes beginning of his tears from his eyes. “No tears,” she tells him. “It’s okay.”

He can’t find his voice, just manages to stare dumbly at his grandmother. “Dad just went out for some air,” he says finally. “I can go get him.”

But Bunny shakes her head, because she knows her son better than she knows herself. He needs the space. Instead, she focuses on the young redhead before her. Asks about school and Veronica and it’s only then that Archie realizes Bunny has no idea about what’s been happening the last few months. He resolves to keep it that way.

She’s still awake when Fred returns, and Archie steps out to give them some time. He remembers that, after Fred woke up, all he wanted to do was just _be_ with him, without anybody else. He wants to give them that time now. 

Over the next three days, Bunny’s condition deteriorates until she’s barely conscious. Archie hears one of the doctors tell Fred that “it’s only a matter of hours now” and watches as Fred dumps his cup of coffee in the trash and run into the bathroom.

Bunny wakes up to Archie’s face for the last time four days after Archie and Fred arrive. She holds Archie’s hand and squeezes it as best she can, tells him that they have to take care of each other now, him and Fred. Says that Fred needs him because he doesn’t have anyone else.

Archie leaves again when Fred enters the room, gives them the space he so desperately wishes they didn’t need. He wishes this whole thing wasn’t happening, but if he’s learned anything these last few months it's that wishing is useless and futile, and does nothing but get hopes up. 

He stands close enough to the door that he can hear when the heart rate monitor flatlines, can hear when Fred reaches up and turns it off.

He waits until he can’t wait anymore, before going back into the room, where Fred sits clutching the hand of his now deceased mother in between his own.

Archie reaches over and puts a hand of Fred’s shoulder, firm but gentle. “Dad,” he whispers.

Fred, who’d managed to keep a brave face this whole time, loses it the second Archie’s fingertips touch his shoulders.

He puts his mother’s hand to his face and sobs openly, all the while Archie keeps a steady hand on his father’s shoulder.

Fred’s never looked younger, more childlike, to Archie than he does right now, when every now and again the word _Mommy_ slips past Fred’s lips.

He’s not sure how long they stay like that, but he knows the sky’s darkened into a deep orange hue by the time he manages to pry Fred away.

* * *

They have to clear out Bunny’s apartment before they leave, Fred says. The complex has given them three days. 

Archie thinks it’s a terrible idea. Like rubbing salt in a wound. Like having to fight one underground grudge match after another to stay alive.

Bunny lived in one of those senior retirement communities, buildings with identical apartments and bridge tournaments and a whole library. The front desk staff smile sadly at them when they identify themselves, lead them to Bunny's apartment and tell them to call down if they need more boxes. 

They start in the hall closet, work together, work quickly, putting all of Bunny’s things into boxes without looking at them too long. They’ll take them all back to Riverdale, where Bunny wanted to have her funeral and be buried, and decide what to do with them from there.

Fred’s just about to suggest breaking for lunch when there’s a knock at the door.

“I called in reinforcements,” Archie says as he swings the door open to reveal Jughead and FP, empty cardboard boxes in tow.

Fred’s shocked. “You didn’t have to come all the way out here,” he says slowly.

“Yeah, we did, Freddy,” FP says, clapping a hand on Fred’s back.

“Put us to work, Mr. A,” Jughead says, rubbing his hands together.

“Come on, Jug,” Archie says, “I need some help in the kitchen.”

The boys amble off, leaving Fred and FP in the front hall, surrounded by cardboard boxes.

“How you doin’?” FP says.

“I don’t-,” he pauses to clear his throat. “Ask me tomorrow.”

The clean up goes much faster now that there’s four of them, more than enough people to hover just barely over Fred, making sure he doesn’t spend too much time on one object or another. 

There’s an old picture on the nightstand of Bunny’s bedroom, their last stop in the apartment, of the Andrews family when Fred was young, in front of Fred’s childhood home. Artie's got Fred on his shoulders and Oscar's in Bunny’s arms. Archie finds Fred staring at it and gently unhooks his hand from around the frame, placing it carefully at the top of an already packed box. “We’re almost done, Dad,” he says, and Fred smiles sadly at him before moving on the the drawers.

* * *

FP and Jughead have a room at the same motel as Archie and Fred, right next door. _I guess the have a vacancy now,_ Archie thinks bitterly. They part ways after dinner, agreeing to meet again in the morning for breakfast before heading back to Riverdale.

The king size bed in the middle of their room is still unmade. Fred doesn’t say much as he crawls into bed that night, his back to his son. The thin curtains emit the bright light of the full moon into the room. 

“Dad?” Archie says when they're both in bed.

“Hm?”

Archie shifts. “I’m really sorry about Grandma.”

“Yeah, me too,” Fred says, still facing away from his son, desperate to keep the tears at bay.

The room goes silent again, and Fred’s sure Archie’s gone to sleep.

“You still have me, you know,” Archie says, his voice small and nervous in the night. “You’ll always have me.”

Fred finally rolls over to face his son, giving his shoulder a squeeze. “I know.”

* * *

Bunny’s funeral goes off without a hitch. Archie thanks God for that. The house is filled with people in the hours that follow, and for many of Archie’s friends, it’s their first time back in the Andrews’ house since Archie went away.

Fred plays dutiful host, just like he did all those years ago. Just like he always does. He gives polite smiles and shakes people’s hands and thanks them for coming and for the flowers and the food…

Archie makes sure his dad can see him at all times. Gives him one less thing to worry about. Stays just within earshot so he can rescue his father from any conversation.

He doesn’t ask, but his friends all do the same. Betty, Jughead, and even Veronica, after their breakup, serve as mainstays throughout the afternoon and into the evening, Jughead interrupting a conversation to ask Fred if there’s any more pigs in a blanket, Betty and Veronica chiming in with stories about the latest Blue and Gold articles or the newest episode of the Machelorette.

Fred was angry at them, back when he found out they helped Archie escaped, but, just like his son, he can’t stay mad for long. He loves them. They love him back.

The adults, Fred’s high school friends, keep a close eye on him too, albeit in a different way.

The last of the guests have left when Hermione wanders back the first floor bathroom and finds FP rummaging through the medicine cabinet.

“FP? What are you doing?”

“Looking for oxy,” FP says as if it’s clear as day, without even looking over at her.

“Seriously?” Hermione says, entering the tiny bathroom, lowering her voice to a stern whisper. “You couldn’t wait until Mrs. Andrews is in the ground before you start looking for drugs? In Fred’s house, no less.”

FP tuts, finally stopping and looking her in the eye. “Not for me, Hermione. Fred started taking them after he got shot-“

"Yes, because getting shot is _painful_ -"

“He started taking ‘em. Abusing them. I’m just checking to see if he’s got any around. I don’t want him to be tempted.”

“And you couldn’t just ask him? You had to go invading his privacy?” Hermione says, reaching up to shut the cabinet. FP puts a hand out and stops her.

“Yeah, and how do you think that conversation would go? ‘Hey, Fred, I know your mom just died and you’re trying to keep it together in front of all these people, but you thinkin’ about getting high?’”

“So searching through his medicine cabinet is the best thing to do?”

FP lets out a frustrated sigh. “Are you gonna help me or not?”

There’s a tap on the door, and Hermione realizes she never completely shut the door behind her. Archie, brows furrowed, stands on the other side.

“Is everything okay?” He asks.

Hermione thinks quick. “Oh, yeah, sorry, Archie. I’ve just got a headache. FP was helping look for something to take.”

“Oh,” Archie says, rocking on the balls of his feet. “Dad keeps all that stuff in his bathroom upstairs. I can go get-“

“No, no,” FP says too quickly, brushing back them both. “I’ll go. Thanks, Red.”

Hermione gives him a thin smile the slips out of the bathroom too, leaving Archie standing in the bathroom doorway alone.

He’d been suspicious when he’d found that empty pill bottle in his dad’s trash can, hadn’t entirely beleived Fred when he’d said he flushed the pills away. It’s just that he wanted more than anything to believe that everything was okay that he let himself be satisfied with the answer. He wishes he hadn’t.

* * *

FP leaves when he’s finally satisfied at the lack of drugs in Fred’s house, leaving the house empty save for Fred and Archie. Or so Fred thought.

There’s a knock at the door as Fred tugs his pajama bottoms onto his thin hips. He’s exhausted and in no mood for conversation. He’s about to open the door to tell Archie he’s fine and to go to bed when the voice on the other side speaks.

“Fred? Can I come in?” Hermione’s melodic voice flows in from the other side of the door. The doorknob starts to twist before Fred has a chance to answer.

“What if I was naked?” Fred says, barking out a wed, sad laugh.

“Nothing I haven’t seen before, Fred.” Hermione rubs her arm down Fred’s shoulder and to his wrist, taking his hand in between both of hers. “I just wanted to check in. Everything’s cleaned up downstairs.”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

"I had help," she says, running her hand down Fred's arm. "I can stay…"

“No, no. Its fine. I’m fine.”

“Fred,” Hermione reaches out and takes Fred’s hand, looks up and takes in his tired frame in the harsh light of the master bathroom.

He untangles his hand from hers, shaking her off. “Please don’t. I’m okay,” he whispers, feeling his heart speed up in his chest.

“Fred, come on. You’re exhausted. You need to rest.”

“I’m fine.”

“Fred…”

He’s not sure how it happens, but the next thing he knows, his lips are less than an inch from Hermione’s face. He pulls away quickly. “We can’t do this,” he says, brushing past her into the bedroom. “You’re married.”

Hermione follows him out. “Not for long. I’ve filed papers.”

Fred runs a hand through his hair nervously. “Archie and Veronica-“

“Aren’t together anymore. She brought Reggie home last week.”

“Hermione, I’m not- I can’t,” he cuts himself off and sits on the edge of his bed. “I’m tired,” he says quietly.

Hermione doesn’t say anything, but slips her shoes off and climbs into bed, sitting up against the headboard, motioning for him to follow her.

“Hermione, I can't-"

“I know,” she says gently. “I’ll leave, I promise. Just as soon as I know you’re asleep.”

Fred hesitates for one more moment before climbing under the covers and settling his head on her lap. She runs her fingers through Fred’s too thin hair over and over again until his breath steadies.

When she’s sure he’s in a deep sleep, she slides her legs out from under Fred, pulls the over up over his shoulders, and slips out of the room.

Which would’ve been the end of it, if she didn’t make direct eye contact with Archie from across the hall right as she shuts the door behind her.

* * *

‘Archie saw me leaving your room just now,’ is the message Fred wakes up to around midnight when he checks his phone. He scrubs his face and hauls himself up, opening his door to see that the light is still on in Archie’s room.

He makes his way over, his stomach turning, almost as if he’d gotten caught sneaking a girl out of the house when he was sixteen.

_You’re a grown man. This is your house. And it’s not like anything even happened._

He raps on the door and finds Archie strumming his guitar in bed. “Hey,” he says.

“Hey. You okay?” Archie says, setting the guitar down.

“Yeah, I’m… fine. I just, uh, I heard you saw Hermione Lodge leaving earlier and-”

“Dad, it’s okay,” Archie says. “Really. You don’t need to explain yourself to me.”

Fred sighs, sitting in the chair by Archie’s bed. “Nothing happened, Arch. She was just checking on me.”

Archie nods, and for a second Fred wonders if he believes him. “Oh,” he says finally. “Okay. But, if something did, like happen, in the future or whatever, that’d be fine with me. Just so you know.”

Fred leans forward in his seat, resting his elbows on his knees, hands clasped. “Nothing’s going to happen, son. There’s too much history, and you and Veronica-”

“Are friends,” Archie cuts in. “And even if we do get back together, that shouldn’t stop you. I mean, Mr. Jones and Mrs. Cooper are together or… something, and Betty and Jug don’t care.”

Fred laughs. “You don’t find that the least bit weird?”

“Not really,” Archie says, shrugging. “I just want you to know that if it makes you happy, then I’m all for it. You don’t have to worry about what I think, Dad. I’ve got your back.”

Fred gets up, putting down the baseball he’d picked up off Archie’s bookshelf, and gives his son’s shoulder and tight squeeze. “I’ve got a good kid, you know that?”

Archie gives his a big smile. “I’ve got a good dad.”

* * *

Archie's last therapy session happens on a Thursday. Dr. Patel asks Fred to come back as part of the wrap up. 

"Archie tells me you lost your mom recently," Dr. Patel says as Fred sits down. "I'm so sorry."

Fred nods his thanks as Dr. Patel continues. "How have both of you been working through that?"

Archie looks at Fred nervously before speaking. "I mean, I'm sad that she's gone, but I'm okay. I'm more worried about Dad."

"Me?" Fred says. 

"Fred," Dr. Patel says. "You _did_ just lose your mom. How are you feeling?"

Fred hesitates, letting out a shaky breath. "I feel like she just left me here all alone. And then I feel guilty because I know I'm not alone. I've got Archie, and the town..."

"It's okay to feel alone, Dad," Archie says, looking to Dr. Patel for reassurance. When she nods, he continues. "I felt alone the whole time I was in juvie, even though I knew that you and Veronica and Jug... everyone, was working to get me out. We can't control how we feel." 

"What we can control is how we react to what we feel, what we choose to do with those feelings. Who we choose to talk to about them." Dr. Patel says, picking up where Archie left off. "And I'm confident that you both have the relationship to do that. I have no doubt that you are on your way to get back to where you want to be. Don't forget that you are father and son, but you're also a team. You can get through tough times, together, much better than you can alone."

* * *

Archie wanted to wait til Father's Day to give it to him, but he just can't help himself. He hauls the large cardboard box from his closet to the living room the Saturday following their final therapy session, setting in on the dining room table before Fred comes downstairs. 

“What’s in the box?” Fred says as he pours himself a cup of coffee. 

“It’s a present,” Archie says, “for you.”

“For me? It’s not my birthday.”

“Just," Archie says, motioning his father over to the table, "open it."

Fred does. 

He rips the cardboard apart to reveal another container, made of leather and shaped like...

“This looks just like-”

“The guitar you sold in high school? It's the same one.”

Archie takes the electric blue guitar from the case and turns it around, revealing the tiny 'FA' Alice had scratched into the instrument back in high school.

“I don’t understand," Fred says, his voice barely above a whisper. "Where did you get this? I sold it years ago."

“It was at Grandma's. Mr. Jones and Jug helped me bring it back without you noticing. I guess she knew you sold it and bought it back. You know,” he shrugs, “just in case you ever wanted it."

"She had it all this time?" Fred says, suddenly breathless. "But I don't..." He trails off and runs his fingers down the smooth edge of the guitar. "I, um, you should keep it. Use it for your music. It's a good guitar. Old, but good," he says, never taking his eyes off the instrument. 

“I already have a guitar. And this one's yours,” Archie says, taking the guitar out of its case and handing it to Fred, who takes it in his hands gingerly.

Fred hesitates, laughs to fill the silence. “I don’t even remember how to play,” he finally says.

“Sure you do. It’s just like riding a bike. And FP said you used to be pretty good. Maybe we could play together.”

Fred smiles. "Yeah?" 

* * *

They're in the garage minutes later, Fred strumming his old friend and feeling an inexplicable warmth wash over him. 

"What did yo guys play back in the day?" Archie asks, tightening the strings on his own guitar. 

Fred laughs. "You ever seen the third "A Nightmare on Elm Street? There's this song..." He starts to play the intro to "Dream Warriors," when Archie puts a hand out to stop him. 

"Hey, wait. I totally forgot to ask. What happened between you and Mrs. Cooper in the Blue and Gold?"

* * *

"Parents are the bone on which children sharpen their teeth. What I'm saying is that when a boy is young, he worships his father and in order for the boy to become a man, he's got to see his father as a fallible human being and stop seeing him as a god."

–Wilson, _Home Improvement_


End file.
